“I’ll pick you up on Friday.”
As he walked away, she wanted to call out, “Wait!” But she didn’t.
Why was she so scared. She had completely meant to tell him, to bring it up and make sure he understood the expectations of their date. But maybe she just didn’t want to be a buzzkill, as essentially important as all was for her. She absolutely needed boundaries, she needed control.
Yet she had forfeited all that now, as she watched him disappear.
That same anxiety returned on their date. She was enjoying herself, she honestly was, but her mind kept buzzing with panic.
Finally, they picnicked on the hilltop at the park, overlooking the street and the old buildings. He began nuzzling at her neck, kissing, sucking.
“Wait,” she finally said, her panic at its climax.
“What’s the matter, baby?” he muttered, not pausing.
“I don’t want this. I should’ve told you… I meant to tell you… I don’t want to be… intimate. I’m asexual.”
He stopped then. He sat up.
He looked disappointed. “Oh. Sorry.”
“No, don’t be. It’s… all right…”
“I thought you were… I’m bisexual, so… I don’t know, I assumed…”
Inspired by this discussion.